Flames of the Soul
by Kim Wit
Summary: Kendra Black was a normal girl, if you can call researching for a community of hunters normal. But her world is turned upside down when her parents are torn apart by a monster. Sam and Dean join Ken on her first hunt, something that will change her life forever.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hello! This is my first fanfic ever, and my first Supernatural fic, obviously. I hope you enjoy!  
** **Disclaimer: I own nothing except a laptop and Kendra Black.**

This was supposed to be a relaxing, normal night.

No crying, screaming, or running from a bloodthirsty monster in my own house.

Lucky for me, my dad got drunk and accidentally told me the passcode to the gun safe a few hours ago, so that's where I'm headed.

I'm running up the stairs as fast as I can manage with my half-awake, adrenaline fueled brain, but the creature is hot on my tail, and although I don't know what it is, a few rounds to the chest should stop it.

I barely manage to latch the door to the weapons room before I hear it snarling, and seconds after slam into the door. Luckily, the wood holds. I run across the room to the safe, and fumble with the lock for half a second before the door finally clicks open. I grab the largest shotgun we have, and load five shells into it. But my half second fumble with the lock was a half second too long, because when I look up, the thing breaks down the door. I cock and aim the gun, brace myself for the inevitable kick, and tell myself not to anticipate the gun's kick.

I pull the trigger.

Whatever the hell this thing is, four shotgun blasts to the head and body don't even slow it down. It snarls at me, and takes a posture I know well from years of hunting. It's preparing to charge. I frantically reach for the machete I know is behind me, and only just manage to unsheathe it before the monster starts to charge. Right before it reaches me, I leap to my left and use my momentum to swing the blade down towards the thing's neck. I was aiming for the neck, but end up hitting its shoulder instead.

As the blade sinks deep into its shoulder, a blood-curdling howl of pain rents the air, and the monster thrashes, trying to dislodge the machete from its shoulder. Eventually, it does, and it nearly runs me down in its frantic dash for the second story window. The creature leaps out, and runs out into the Sonoran desert, the moonlight glinting off its blood.

As the adrenaline recedes in my body, I can feel pain in my left shoulder. Apparently, when the thing charged me, its claws got me in the shoulder. I risk a glance, and quickly turn away. My left shoulder has a large tear in it, and my entire arm is nearly soaked in my own blood, flowing freely from my wound. But I don't have the tools or the experience to deal with this kind of wound. I can only hope that the creature's claws weren't poisoned.

As I become accustomed to the pain, realization, and grief close on its heels, sets in. The realization: my parents are dead. The grief is fairly obvious. They were mauled and killed by that thing. Their screams and shouts were what woke me up. Well, those and the six shots my dad fired from his gun at it. I guess I'm pretty lucky, in a sick kind of way, because I could be dead too right now if they hadn't screamed.

I numbly feel myself sit down from the blood loss from my shoulder, and from the grief of losing the two most important people in the world to me. I can vaguely hear sirens in the distance, and they're getting louder. One of my neighbors must have called the police and an ambulance. Good and bad. Good: I can get treatment for my horribly mangled shoulder. Bad: I'll probably be hospitalized, and the police will ask too many questions. And they won't believe me if I tell them the truth. Maybe I can just play the grief-stricken teenager card. It's at least three-quarters true.

By the time the paramedics find me sitting pathetically on the floor, my shoulder is throbbing painfully, and I can barely see from blood loss. I just let the paramedics half lead half carry me to the waiting ambulance. I'm numb from my parents' deaths, something no 16-year old girl should have to suffer through. I can vaguely feel tears on my face as sweet, blissful unconsciousness envelops me.

My last rational thought is a slim hope that some hunter will help me find that monster before it skips town.

 **A/N: So, first chapter down, so many more to go. Sorry for the shortness, hope you enjoyed! Reviews are appreciated! :)**


	2. Chapter 2

I wake to the white ceiling of the too clean hospital. Like, seriously, how much disinfectant do you need in one room? A feeling of weightlessness fills my body and my mind is fairly muddled, which tells me I'm on some pretty serious painkillers. I hear humming, to my right, so I carefully turn my head to the source. Somehow, through my drug-filled mind, I see a nurse wearing plain blue scrubs fiddling with my IV.

"Oh, hello," she says with a smile. Her happiness infuses the room, but I can see pity in her eyes, something I don't want. But my mom always used to tell me to be nice to people, so I smile sadly back at her.

"Hello," I respond. Or rather, try to respond, and instead make a croaking noise like a dried up toad. My mouth and throat are as dry as the sand dunes in California, probably because I spent quite a long time crying last night. I also don't know how long I've been unconscious. I guess I can ask the friendly nurse.

"Oh, you must be thirsty. So sorry!" The nurse, Jenna from her nametag, scurries to fetch me a glass of water. My bed is already slightly tilted up, making both our lives easier. Jenna hands me a cup of water. I try to lift my left arm to take it, out of habit, but quickly correct myself as a shooting pain runs down my arm from my shoulder. I momentarily forgot that the creature clawed my left shoulder last night. Instead, I take the cup of water from Jenna using my uninjured right hand.

After I drink some water, I feel the dryness in my throat go away, and although it's still rough, I feel much better.

Even though I don't want to know, I need to. This isn't my first rodeo in a hospital.

"How bad is my shoulder?" I ask Jenna as she writes something on the clipboard at the foot of my bed.

"Well, you needed several stitches, but the damage will not be permanent," Jenna says, "You'll have to stay for a few days, but if there are no complications, you should be released in two, three days tops."

"Awesome." I am not looking forward to staying two days in this white, sterile hell, let alone three. I dramatically sigh and gently throw myself against the bed, with an amused smile. I always have been an overdramatic person.

"I take it this isn't your first hospital visit," Jenna says with the same veiled amusement that I threw myself into the bed with.

"Nope, and it probably won't be my last." Shit, I hope she doesn't ask questions about that. I do not have time to come up with an excuse for that screw-up.

Jenna smiles, "Well, I'll bring you some food in a little while." Yay, she didn't ask questions. But I can feel my brain starting to take a little walk down memory lane, something I don't like to do, but can't argue against or get myself out of. So I take the ride.

* * *

(2 years earlier)

I smile smugly as the arrow I just fired _thunks_ into the target, dead center of the bullseye.

"Nice shot," I hear behind me. With years of practice, I quickly nock an arrow to my bow, draw, and turn around, pointing the tip at the person behind me. I'm suspicious; I wasn't expecting anyone to join me out on the range today.

"Woah, easy there." It's a man, about six feet tall, with short, light brown hair. He's kind of scrawny and lanky, but you can't judge a book by its cover.

"Who are you?" I ask. I naturally don't trust people, never have. This guy's no different.

"The name's Garth." He has a strong accent that I can't quite place, but that doesn't make me trust him.

I take a good look at him before responding. I can read people pretty well, and I have to analyze everyone that approaches me, especially people who just casually walk up to me at the archery range.

His posture is fairly relaxed, but his tenseness is probably due to the fact that I'm pointing my bow at his chest. His feet are spaced apart in a defensive stance, but not in a threatening way. His face is relaxed, and he's making eye contact with me. Again, not threatening. But not afraid either. I can see the outline of a concealed firearm at his right hip. But I have one too, and he's not reaching for it at the moment at least.

My conclusion: he has no intention to harm me, but I have to be careful. Either that or he's really good at faking his body language, which is unlikely, considering his foot position is relaxed.

"Kendra," I say, "My name's Kendra." I really hate my name; it's too girly, and my friends call me Ken. The only reason I don't tell Garth is that I don't trust him enough yet. "What do you want Garth?" I ask as I lower my bow and put the arrow back in my quiver, but I keep my hand close to my gun, just in case.

"I saw that thing you shot down a few months ago, and was wondering if you could help me kill something else. You're a pretty good shot with a bow." It's true; I placed first at the last seven competitions I participated in.

I killed something with my bow a couple months back, because I heard my dogs in the backyard howling, and something big snarling. The monster died after only one arrow to the chest, but sadly, my dogs didn't survive. The Labrador didn't survive the attack at all, and the German Shepherd died a few days later from his injuries. I cried for days, but I lived the next few weeks in fear; there were things in the dark that the world doesn't know about. I wanted to hunt them, but my parents are too overprotective to let me leave the house.

"I would love to help you, Garth, but I can't. My parents won't let me leave the house unless I make up a really good excuse, and it's hard to convince them." I could easily convince them, but I want to see how badly Garth wants my help.

"Let me talk to them." Okay, but bad idea. The last guy that talked to my parents got beat up by my dad for trying to get me drunk.

But Garth seems to need my help, not just want it, and he seems like an OK guy, so I decide to trust him. "No, I'll talk to them. I can just make something up, and hope that they'll believe it."

"Okey dokey," Garth says, "Meet back here tomorrow with some supplies, a gun and your bow are both necessities." I know I shouldn't go with him, let alone trust him, but I have to get out of the house. Only two weeks into summer break, and I'm chomping at the bit to go do something.

"Alrighty then," I say. Garth wave and walks off with a bounce in his step and a friendly smile on his face. After he's out of eyeshot, I pack up my bow and put it in the back of the Ranger. I'm going to need some time to persuade my parents to let me leave for a few days.

* * *

(Present Day)

Garth took me on a hunt for a Wendigo, but one of us screwed up, and I ended up getting attacked, and woke up two days later in a local hospital from severe blood was freaking out, and it took me hours to convince him that I was fine. After that, he took me home, and my parents were luckily oblivious to my injuries. Since I couldn't hunt until my parents would let me leave the house, Garth spread the word that I could research lore and hunts for the community of Arizona. I could easily research stuff and remain under my parent's' radar.

I guess that I can hunt, now that my parents are dead. I'm happy that I can hunt and travel now, but I'm not happy about the circumstances that it happened. That's how life works I guess; it gives you one thing and takes away another. A few tears slip through my closed eyelids. My parent's loss hurts, but I'm a realist. Mourning them won't bring them back, no matter how much you try. Besides I've learned to just suck up your problems and keep moving, otherwise you'll get stuck in a rut with no hope of getting out.

I take a deep breath, and look at the clock across the room. It reads 9:30, and I'm exhausted. I turn the lights off from the control at my hand and descend into a deep, relaxed sleep.

 **A/N: I promise the action will start soon. And Sam and Dean will come next chapter with luck! :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Hello! I'm so sorry for the long update, but I was enjoying the first week of my summer break from school. Here is chapter number three! Enjoy!**

I step out into the cold but fresh air and take a deep breath, relieved to finally be out of the hospital. I'm wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt; I was lucky to even find some clothes in the gift shop of the hospital, but I wish I had a jacket. While the winters here in Phoenix, Arizona are mild compared to other states, the cold really gets to you, especially when just under half the year is spent in the triple digits.

I pull my phone out of my pocket and dial a taxi, not wanting to go to any of my relatives houses; all they'll do is cry and mope and treat me like a three-year-old. Not that I'm not grieving for my parents too, I just think when things get tough, you just get your shit together and keep going.

These past four days in the hospital were hell. Not literally, but I was bored out of my mind. This stupid grief counselor came to see me every single day, and while she was nice, I probably know how to handle death better than most people. Several hunters went down on hunts that _I_ sent them on, and there isn't a day that goes by when I don't blame myself for their deaths. But it gets better with time, and while my parents were obviously closer to me than any of these hunters, the pain from their deaths will fade with time too. I got several calls from crying relatives asking if I needed anything. But I hate my relatives. All of their added IQ's could not reach mine, and most of them are out of state anyways, so why bother, I don't like or need them anyways.

Yes, I'm sad about my parents. Yes, I cried myself to sleep every night while in the hospital. Yes, I will probably have nightmares about them until I die. But _none_ of that is going to stop me from being who I am now: a hunter. I decided while in the hospital that I will travel and hunt evil, like the thing that killed my parents, in the hope that I can save other people from the ache I feel inside my chest from their loss.

The taxi I dialed finally shows up, and I tell the driver to take me back to my house. I have a lot of work to do, especially if I'm going to sell the stupid thing. There are just too many memories within its walls for me to call it home now.

After the short drive, we arrive at my house. I pay the taxi driver, and he drives off. As I turn around, I see my neighbor, Tom, standing on a ladder repairing the second story window the monster jumped through when it escaped.

"Hey Tom!" I yell up to him, "Whatcha doin'?"

"Repairing your window," he replies. I already knew that, i just wanted to make normal conversation after my four days in the hospital. "No charge," he says, "just consider it payment for all of the beers you dad gave me." Tom smiles down to me sadly before returning to his handiwork. "All done. Have a nice day Ken, and don't hesitate to come over if you need anything." Tom packs up his equipment and retreats back into his house before I can even thank him. I'm not complaining though; Tom's always been a little socially awkward

I walk inside my house, dreading cleaning the blood out of the carpet, but I am suprised when I find it squeaky clean. Not just the carpet, but the whole house. I initially put my guard up, because when the paramedics picked me up, there was blood everywhere; my parent's, mine, even the creature's. Then I remember that Tom's wife is the manager for a housekeeping company. She must have had some people come over and clean the house for me. I smile sadly and shake my head, chuckling a little from my good luck. I'll never be able to repay those two.

I take a quick shower and put on a baggy shirt and shorts, my version of pajamas. That way, if I fall asleep while doing what I'm about to do next, no harm done.

I pull out the organized folder of paperwork that I put together just in case my dad decided to go off-grid. He was always taking about it, and even had me and my mom put together a folder of people to call and things to cancel if we ever did. I just never thought I would use the stupid thing. I won't be using everything I put in here, but I will definitely use at least half of it.

I make phone calls to my school and other activities, saying that I won't be coming back, and probably never will. It takes a good few hours, seeing as I also have to call my parent's bosses and cancel their jobs too. But I also manage to get a few thousand dollars wired to their checking accounts, thanks to an "in the event of death" sub-clause in their work contracts. I also delete my many online gaming accounts, emails, social networking, and anything else I have on the internet that can allow me to be tracked. I do the same thing with my parents' stuff, including cancelling all credit cards. Luckily, we had just sent the bill paying the company, so I owed nothing, and everything went through smoothly. I shred every hard copy on me or my parents and wipe the hard drives of the other three computers besides my own laptop. I have to be careful about what I clear on that, seeing as I'm going to keep it.

I yawn, opening my mouth far wider than it probably should, and realize that I'm having trouble focusing on my laptop screen, so I decide to deal with my laptop and other things in the morning.

I trudge up the stairs to my room and plop my whole body onto my soft, cozy bed, not even bothering to cover myself with a blanket due to my exhaustion. Sooner than I realize, I fall asleep.

* * *

These past two weeks have been hell. I sold my mom's car and most of mine and my parent's possessions, and am up to my ears in paperwork. I haven't left my house in days, and am living off of MRE's, which really suck in terms of flavor, but at least keep me on my feet.

I roll out of my bed and all but drag myself to the bathroom for a shower. I woke up in a cold sweat from a nightmare I was having and couldn't fall back asleep, hence the shower. After getting out, I look at myself in the mirror, really look, for the first time in days. A teenager, about 5'8", with bright blue eyes and dark golden hair that falls to about mid-back stares back at me. Her face looks exhausted, and there are bags under her eyes from long days of work and short nights of nightmares, but her body is full and muscular. A large, black tattoo wraps around her left shoulder full of trees, the sun, and the moon.

I know it was foolish and stupid, but I got a tattoo artist to mix my parents ashes in the ink and put it on my arm. There are word my parents used to say hidden throughout it, and their faces are hidden in the trees if I look close enough. It cost me a fortune, but I won't be able to carry the ashes with me as I hunt, and scattering the ashes was too painful to even think about. At least I had the sense to put it in a place where I can easily cover it with a shirt, and I can carry my parents with me now, wherever I choose to go.

I finally managed to sell my house three days ago, and I've been cleaning and packing the guns and weapons into my dad's truck. I bought a case I can safely put in the bed to conceal the weapons without incident. The best part is, if anyone opens it without the right code in the lock, an empty compartment will open, safely concealing the weapons. Loading and organizing the guns and weapons into the box is hard and time consuming, and I can only do it if there isn't anyone around in the neighborhood, or they would probably call the police because people are stupid and afraid of guns. At least my shoulder is healed enough from the monster attack to do work now.

I'm sweaty and exhausted by the time I put my bow in the weapons box, the last thing I needed to put in, besides my .40 caliber handgun, but I'm keeping that with me at all times. I decide to go take a quick shower before continuing with my paperwork and packing a bag to travel with.

As I'm packing my backpack, I hear the doorbell ring. It could be the people who bought the house visiting again, or some friends here to wish me good luck and to say goodbye. I told a few friends that I'm going to live with an old relative in Alaska, and the story spread around like wildfire. I don't have many friends, but Alaska is more believable than hunting evil across the country.

I walk downstairs, and peer through the peephole to see who is paying me another annoying visit that's going to keep me from packing. I see two men, each six feet tall at least, and both wearing suits. That's weird. I threw the police off my tail by saying that a relative of mine came to stay with me until I'm eighteen, and even hacked their database and planted a fake relative just in case. And I don't have any friends that would wear suits, or that are taller than 5'10" for that matter. So that narrows it down to the local church or the feds. I am terribly hoping that these two are from the church.

I open the door and get a better look at my two unexpected visitors. The taller of the two has long, dark brown hair that reaches his shoulders and brownish eyes. The shorter of the two has short brown hair that kind of sticks up from his head and had sparkling green eyes. Both of them are very muscular, and green-eyes is standing slightly in front of sasquatch, suggesting a protective instinct towards him. I can see the outline of a pistol on both of them through their suit jackets, but I'm not scared of that, because I have one too. Both of them are tense, but not in a threatening way, more of a protective way towards each other.

They hold up their badges and green-eyes speaks, "Agents Barton and Smith, FBI. We would like to ask you a few questions about your parents' deaths if you don't mind."

I can tell that these two are not FBI agents. Sasquatch's hair doesn't meet FBI regulations, which I learned in my history class in school. Also the '67 Chevy Impala outside isn't an FBI sanctioned vehicle, which I learned at a National Security conference last summer.

But I decide to play along until I find out more about these two, but I know I have to keep my guard up because I know virtually nothing about these two.

"Yeah, sure, please come in." I open the door a little wider to let them in. I lead them to the living room, bare except for two couches. "Sorry for the lack of decor, I'm moving in with a relative out of state." Luckily, I managed to sell the couches to the buyers of my house.

I wait for them to sit before I do, Me on the couch against the wall commanding full view of the room, and the two of them sit on the couch opposite me.

"Since when does the FBI investigate break-ins and isolated murders in a relatively quiet neighborhood?" I ask, playing the dumb blonde card, my hair color working in favor for me. These two seem vaguely familiar, but I know I've never met them before, and if they're hunters, they aren't from my little community.

"We just go where they tell us," sasquatch replies. Whoever these two are, they have done this before, and are really good at concealing their body language. Even I can't get a good read on them.

Green-eyes' phone rings, and he excuses himself from the room to answer it while sasquatch asks me questions about sulfur and cold spots.

I have no doubt now that these two are hunters. The sulfur is a sign of demons and cold spots is ghosts. But I continue to play along until I know for certain who these two are. I'm only half listening to sasquatch's questions, because I'm listening to green-eyes' side of his phone conversation. Whoever he's talking to might give me a clue as to who these two hunters are.

"Okay, thanks Bobby," I hear green-eyes say, and hang up. I sift through my mental database of hunters for Bobby, and only two come to mind. One died four months ago, killed while hunting a wendigo, so its not him. The other is Bobby Singer out of Sioux Falls, South Dakota, and he knows everything about anything that goes bump in the night. Bobby has helped me find some lore several times since Garth got me in the business.

Sasquatch is asking me something; I've been searching for Bobby in my head for too long. "Ms. Black-"

"Please, call me Kendra," I interrupt. Even though I hate it, Ms. Black is infuriating, and I don't quite have a positive ID on these two yet.

"Kendra," Sasquatch says, "here's my number, please call us if you hear or think of anything else that might help us." He hands me a card, and I absentmindedly take it. He gets up to follow green-eyes out when it hits me.

There is a really good chance, in fact I'm certain, that these two are Sam and Dean Winchester. Their stature is right, they're amazing at their job, and they are on good terms with Bobby Singer, which not many hunters that know him can claim. They have to be the Winchesters, and if I'm wrong, oh well. If I'm right though, they could help me hunt the thing that killed my parents.

"You're not FBI," I blurt out.

They seem confused, yet surprised and startled by my accusation. Good, I'm right on that account at least.

"You're hunters aren't you?" I ask, rising off the couch. Sam and Dean both take defensive postures, as if expecting me to attack them. I stay relaxed, not wanting to startle them.

"How do you know?" Dean asks. I look at both of them. They both seem very uncomfortable with the situation, but I need to gain their trust if I want their help hunting this thing.

So, I decide to answer truthfully, "You know and are on good terms with Bobby Singer, your hair," I say, gesturing to Sam, "is too long for FBI regulations, the '67 Chevy Impala parked outside isn't an FBI sanctioned vehicle, and if you were FBI, the police would have already told you everything you need to know, thus defeating the need for you to come to my house and ask me questions." I pause, debating whether to tell them this next part. "Also, you two are pretty much famous in the hunter community for stopping the apocalypse. And I research for a community of hunters in Arizona."

They seem to relax a little bit. "Okay," Dean says, "But we have to make sure you're not a monster or something." He pulls out two different flasks and a silver knife. I know what they're for, but it doesn't mean I have to like it. Holy water for demons, Borax for Leviathan, and silver for a huge variety of things. Dean simply flicks the water from the two flasks at me, and lays the flat of the silver blade against my arm.

After passing all three tests, Dean puts the flasks and knife away, and the brothers almost completely relax.

"If you have any information about this thing that attacked you, it would really help us," Sam says. Now that I am a certified human in the hunter book, we all relax and sit back down.

I tell them everything about the monster, from how it looked, walked, and sounded, all the way to how bullets did nothing against it, but a machete did some pretty serious damage.

After I finish telling them my story, the Winchesters start to leave, but I want to help them find this thing. Yes, I want revenge for my parents, but the need I feel to help people and prevent this from happening to others is more overwhelming.

"Wait," I say as they start to walk towards their car. They turn back. I continue, "Let me help you with this." I just can't let them leave me behind.

"Kendra-," Dean starts to say, but I interrupt him.

"Ken." They look at me strangely, and I just shrug, "I trust you guys now."

"Okay, Ken," Sam says, picking up where Dean left off, " I understand that you want to avenge your parents, believe me I know. But you can't let this consume you." Sam looks at me earnestly.

"I don't want revenge, I want to protect people!" I exclaim. Geez, these two really know how to get on someone's nerves.

"Ken, we just want to keep you safe," Dean says, his eyes practically begging me to listen. On other circumstances, that might have calmed me down, but now it just provokes me even more.

"No! It isn't your job to protect me! If I stay in this house or with any of my relatives, I'll go insane. I have nowhere else to go but the open road, so whether you want me to or not, I'm going to hunt this thing down, and I would _really_ appreciate your help." My rant over, I stand in the doorway breathing heavily, my blue eyes locked on their own green and brown. The boys seem impressed, and I sense a sort of non-verbal agreement pass through them.

"Alright," Dean says, "Come to our hotel when you're done packing and you can join in." He tells me the hotel and room number, and they both leave, the Impala's engine roaring away.

I close the door behind me, and put a new enthusiasm into my packing. If I hurry, I can get to the hotel by sundown. I finish packing my bag and the truck in a few hours, and throw what I couldn't sell in the bed of the navy blue truck to take it to the donation center a few miles away. I go back into the house to put on some more appropriate clothes for hunting. I decide on athletic pants (I hate jeans), a t-shirt, and my boots. As a last thought, I throw on the red and maroon plaid flannel my parents gave me last year for my birthday. Even though it isn't that cold, I just think it's humorously appropriate, considering I'm a hunter now.

I lock the door to my house for the last time, and climb into my dad's, now my, truck. I put the key in the ignition, hear the engine start, and drive off into my future.

 **A/N: Ooooh, a cliffhanger. Not too dramatic, but what the heck. I'm sorry for all of the exposition, but I promise you, the action should start in chapter 5. Please review, your reviews keep me writing! :)**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Hello! I'm one day late on this chapter, and I feel really guilty about that, so , sorry. And without further ado, here is chapter number 4! :)**

The hotel the boys gave me is a small, cheap, run down motel, but the people don't ask questions. It's perfect for hunters like me and the Winchesters.

I expertly pull my navy blue Toyota in next to the Impala, turn off the ignition, and sit back in my seat, overwhelmed by just how much my life has changed in the last month alone. Just three weeks ago, I was a straight-A junior in high school with a full ride scholarship to any in-state college that I chose to go to. No I'm a homeless orphan destined to hunt evil until the day I die. But the life isn't that bad, I suppose. No rules to follow besides your own, no essays to write, and my favorite part, nobody looking over your shoulder watching your every move.

I sigh; sitting in the truck moping isn't going to solve anything, so I decide to just get out in the world and live in it.

I grab my .40 caliber Glock out of the center console of the truck and climb out. I jump down and immediately pull my flannel tighter around my torso. There's an unnatural chill to the air, even for the middle of December at 7:30 at night.

I quickly lock my truck and briskly walk to the door to the Winchesters' room. I knock loudly on the door and wait for it to open.

Less than a minute passes before I hear the deadbolt unlock and Dean opens the door.

"Come on in," he says, and opens the door a little wider to let me in. Once I am safely in the room, he closes it behind me, but doesn't lock it, which I'm thankful for; it gives me an out just in case these two end up not being as friendly as I thought. It takes a lot to earn my trust.

The room has two beds, a nightstand, a table off to the side and a few armchairs. Sam is sitting in one of the chairs in front of the table, eagerly typing and scrolling through the Internet on his laptop. I plop down in the chair across the table from Sam, trying to make myself as comfortable as possible in the company of two people I only met a few hours ago. Dean takes a seat on the bed closer to the door and starts cleaning his guns.

"So what do you got?" I ask Sam.

"Not much so far, only that the early settlers here called it a caro comedenti after it attacked several residents. I would know more if I could get into this website," Sam responds, his eyes never leaving the computer screen.

"Wait a second," I say, my brain sifting through all of its useless information that I can't forget. "Caro comedenti is just flesh eater in Latin."

The boys look impressed, their faces practically begging for an explanation.

I shrug, "I took Latin in high school and taught myself the rest when I started researching for the Arizona hunter community."

"Huh," Sam says. They still look impressed, almost more so than when I translated the name of the monster in seconds. Sam resumes speaking, "Well, if I could access the whole website, we could learn more about it."

"Why don't you let me try, I'm pretty good with computers," I say. It's true, I've done more than my fair share of hacking looking for lore.

Sam just chuckles, "You think you can get into this when I can't?"

I respond in kind, "I don't _think_ , I _know_." I smile and sit back in my chair, crossing my arms.

"Okay," Sam says, and slides his laptop across the table to me. I take it and quickly skim through the website, looking for what I need to get into. It should be easy enough for a hunter of Sam's reputation to hack, that is, if he can live up to his reputation. I glance up over the screen at Sam and see him smiling proudly, sitting back in his chair.

I realize that he's testing me. They probably called some of the local hunters to do some research on me, to do a little hunter background check. I do them all the time whenever a new hunter asks me for some help. They want to see if I can live up to my reputation, which I surprisingly have, at least within this state.

Rather than calling them out on their little game, I go against every fiber of my being and decide to hack the website and play along. I need to gain their trust if I want them to help me hunt the comedenti. Also it's really fun to hack things. I get pass the security in less than five minutes, a new record for me, and slide the laptop back to Sam.

"Good enough for you?" I ask, tilting my head innocently. I can see Dean silently chuckle out of the corner of my eye, which only serves to broaden my victorious smile.

"Well done," Sam says, "Okay, so it says here that the comedenti lives in dry, mountainous caves, almost exclusively found in the Southwest of the United States and some parts of Mexico. It is nocturnal, and hunts large animals like cattle, horses, mules, and people if it can find them."

"Great," Dean says, still cleaning the guns. "How do we kill it?" I guess Dean just wants to get right down to killing things.

"Give me a second,' Sam says, scrolling down the screen, "It says that bright light is painful to it, and that steel is the only thing that the settlers could injure and kill it with."

"That explains why the machete hurt it, but nothing else did," I say.

"Awesome," Dean interrupts. He holds up the pistol he just finished putting back together, "Well, I guess these are useless."

But I'm more concerned about how it can hurt us, not how we can hurt it. Call me crazy, but I want to walk away in one piece. "Is there anything else that can hurt us besides the thing's claws and teeth?" I ask Sam.

"Hold on," Sam says, eagerly leaning forwards into the computer screen, "Here we go, its claws are extremely sharp and serrated, as are its teeth, but its bite is venomous."

"What kind of venom?" I ask. If it's dangerous, as most monstrous venoms are, we should be prepared.

"All the site says is that the venom is extremely deadly, and anyone who survived the bite gained strange abilities that they refused to divulge."

"Great," I say, exasperated, "So, basically we just have to avoid being bitten."

"Awesome," Dean says for the second time in less than ten minutes.

"Well," I continue after Dean's interruption, "Since guns are useless and I really don't want to get within range of this thing's teeth, I have some steel broadheads for my bow in my truck, I just need to sharpen them. If it's alright with you guys, can I just sharpen them in here?" I ask. I really don't want to go to my room until I absolutely have to.

"Sure," Sam says, "We'll leave the door unlocked so you can get back in."

"Thanks," I say. I rise from my chair and walk out to my truck. I do need to sharpen my broadheads, but I also need to think.

Once the hotel door closes behind me, I walk to the bed of my truck and lean against the left taillight. The fact that Dean only said four sentences throughout the duration of my stay, five or six if you count his facial expressions, definitely set me on edge. Dean seems reserved, and extremely antisocial, but I'm reserved and antisocial, and even _I_ talked more than Dean did.

I've been standing out here for too long, and I don't want the brothers to get more suspicious than they already are. Honestly, it doesn't take long to grab broadhead tips from a truck. I open the bed of my truck and grab my box of broadheads, gloves so I don't cut myself, and the blade sharpener. After gathering the small box, the sharpener, and my gloves, I close and lock my truck and walk back the the boys' hotel room

Once inside the room, I notice that Dean has packed the guns away in a duffel bag and is now sharpening an old, worn, cracked, chipped machete that is long overdue for replacement. Sam is still relentlessly typing and scrolling on his laptop.

I opt to sit on the floor instead of in a chair or on the bed; ever since I was a small, stupid kid, I always felt safer and more comfortable on the floor, so I sit on the floor in the corner of the room. Dean looks up from his machete and looks at me kind of strangely, but otherwise doesn't comment on my strange ways.

I put on my gloves, open the broadhead box, and get to work. I take my time with the tips, not wanting to damage them, but I also find this somewhat monotonous task rather calming, and meditative. It allows me to enter what my karate sensei called no-mind, a state where you don't think about anything, and just let your body work. It's a calming state, and I try to enter it whenever I can.

I finish the process of sharpening in about forty-five minutes, an average amount of time for me to sharpen all of the tips, and luckily don't cut myself at all, which is a first for me, even if I have gloves. I put the last tip back in the box and close it, placing the sharpening tool and my gloves on top of it. I look towards the Winchesters. Sam has abandoned his laptop for sharpening his own worn machete that is also long overdue for replacement, and Dean is polishing his own, but no amount of oil is going to help that poor thing.

I don't trust these two. Not that I think that they're evil or anything, but I just have a hard time trusting people, something I probably got from my dad.

I sit back in the armchair I had occupied earlier, "So what should we do about killing this thing?" I ask.

My voice seems to startle them after my long silence, and they take a moment to collect themselves before responding.

"Well, we know it lives in dry, mountainous caves, but I don't know where any caves are around here," Sam says. Wow, it seems like Sam has done pretty much all of the talking tonight, but I don't comment, since I don't need an argument on my hands.

"There are some caves in the mountains near my house that my friends and I used to explore for fun several years back. I also used to go up there sometimes alone just to clear my head. I can lead us to them, but they're kind of hard to find." The caves are actually really obvious if you know anything about the desert at all, but I don't need to give them an excuse to leave me behind. "We also know the thing is nocturnal, so we should go during the day."

"No," Dean says, " If we go closer to dusk, it'll be waking up and out in the open where it'll be vulnerable."

"But then we're playing on its terms, not ours, and I'm personally not fond of being toyed with. If we find its cave during the day, we can kill it with more ease, and we're less likely to become comedenti food." Are these two that stupid?

"But if it screams or makes any kind of loud noise, any nearby people might call the cops," Sam defends.

I don't have a good response to that one, so I relent, "Fine," I say, angry and defeated, "But don't think for one second that I like this."

"You wouldn't be hunter if you did," Dean says. He smiles apologetically at me, and I regretfully return the smile. Okay, maybe these two do have some common sense, and I can kind of see the logic in their words, but I still don't like the thought of playing on the comedenti's home turf, let alone by its rules as well.

"We should meet up at my old house tomorrow around 5:30 in the afternoon. That will give us enough time to reach the caves by sunset, but we'll still have enough light to see by," I say, hoping that they'll agree with me.

"Sounds good to me," Dean says, looking at Sam expectantly, no doubt waiting for him to agree as well.

"Alright, then. Tomorrow at 5:30 at your old house," Sam says. Both of them make eye contact with me and I nod affirmatively.

"Well, I'm pretty tired, guys. I'm going to go get some shut-eye," I say while yawning. Dean just chuckles and they both bid me goodnight as I leave the room.

I'm extremely happy that I had the common sense to book a room before I went to talk to the Winchesters. I grab my backpack full of clothes and other items that I need for the night from my truck, including my handgun, and head to the other side of the building where my room is located, open the door, and take in my room. It's a simple, one bedroom hotel room, yet quite cozy. I lock the door behind mean and quickly get changed into some more comfortable clothes to sleep in. I brush my teeth and set my hair free from its ponytail, finally relaxing. I turn to my bed and gratefully fall into it, not bothering with the covers before I fall into a deep sleep.

 **A/N: Hope you all liked it! Please review! *uses Sam's puppy eyes* And as always, Happy Reading! :)**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Hello! Here is the next chapter! Just a warning, there is mild swearing late in the chapter, but nothing too drastic. I hope you enjoy!**

I walk down the stairs slowly, dreading seeing what I am about to see, and as I round the corner, my fears are confirmed.

I see them, dead, torn apart by that monster: my beloved parents.

I scream, and it swings its ugly head and roars, a noise that sounds like nails on a chalkboard. It charges, and I try forcing my body to move, but I am rooted to the spot, and my legs refuse to respond to the "run" command I am sending them.

In two short bounds, the creature is on me, it tackles me to the ground, and I feel its claws sink into my sides. It looks me in the eyes and snarls, and I scowl back at it, pouring all of my anger into my face. It bares its teeth and buries its claws deeper into my sides as it bites down on my shoulder.

I scream in pain, the inhuman noise tearing itself from my throat, a sound full of more pain than I've ever felt.

* * *

I bolt awake, sitting up in my bed, gasping, covered in sweat. It was just a nightmare, only a fiction of my subconscious.

"You're alive, you're alive, you're safe, it was just a nightmare, you're safe…" I keep repeating this over and over to myself until I feel my heart rate subside to a relatively calm rate.

This has been a recurring nightmare since I woke up in the hospital after my parents died, and it never fails to scare the crap out of me. Sweat coats my body, my shirt is plastered to my body, and my hair is soaked in my sweat, sticking to the back of my neck.

I glance at the clock on the nightstand. 4:47. Great, I only got about 5 hours of sleep, and had a nightmare on top of it all, earning me no rest at all. And now I have no hope of falling back asleep. Lovely.

I decide to take a shower to clean the sweat off me. I would have taken one in a few hours anyway. The warm spray feels heavenly on my head, and I'm reluctant to get out, but my stomach insists otherwise, growling loudly, telling me to go eat some food. I turn off the spray of water, and get out, looking at myself in the mirror.

My golden hair is wet, plastered to my back, and my blue eyes shine back at me. My muscles stretch against my skin, and my tattoo stands out against my pale skin. An ugly, misshapen scar is raised against my left shoulder, and I turn away, not wanting to revisit those horrible memories.

I walk out of the bathroom and put on some clothes: a plain grey t-shirt, some loose-fitting jeans, and my flannel. I also put on my boots and lace them up. My stomach growls loudly again, reminding me to eat for the second time this morning. I grab my wallet from my bag, intending to walk across the street to the 24-hour diner I saw last night for some breakfast. When I was in high school, I used to wake up at 4:00 AM, so eating breakfast at five isn't that outrageous for me.

I leave my room, making sure to close and lock the door behind me, and walk across the street. The air is a little chilly, but I can't complain; the sun isn't even out yet, so I'm relying on the streetlamps to light my way. There are hardly any cars on the road, and I cross the street without incident. I end up in the parking lot of the small diner, and quickly walk inside the diner, making sure nobody followed me.

The smell of bacon and coffee assaults my nose, and my mouth begins to water. My stomach growls yet again, telling me to get some food. I sit down at the bar, and a friendly waitress walks up to me, and smiles.

"Hello there," she says. She has curly brown hair piled on top of her head, and dark brown eyes to match. She looks about late 30's, early 40's, and her nametag shows me that her name is Denise. "What can I get for you this morning?" She seems nice, and her accent sounds Texan, but it could just be from the Midwest in general.

I smile nicely at her. "I'd like a coffee, and some bacon and eggs please."

"Alright, I'll get that right up for you!" Denise spins on her heel, grabs a pot of coffee and a mug, and pours me a cup. She puts the coffee down in front of me along with some creamer, and I thank her. I pour some of the creamer in it, and take a small sip. The coffee is some of the best coffee I've tasted, but not _the_ best.

As I sip on my coffee, I look around at the other patron in the diner. He's an old man, probably homeless judging by his clothes, and he's drinking some coffee. He doesn't seem like a threat, but I'll keep an eye on him all the same. There's nobody else, but it is five in the morning, and I'm not complaining.

As I'm waiting for my food, I hear the little bell by the door signaling someone coming inside. I turn to look, and am astonished by what I see: Sam and Dean. Great, the last thing I need right now is these two whackjobs following me. They glance my way and sit nearly right behind me. I decide to ignore them at least until I finish my breakfast or they talk to me, whichever comes first.

Denise walks up with my food, and sets down a plate of eggs and bacon in front of me.

"Thanks, that was fast," I say.

"Well there isn't much of a crowd this morning," Denise says, and refills my coffee. "Enjoy the food!" She's off, going to ask Sam and Dean what they want.

I dig into my food, intending to confront the Winchesters after I finish eating. This bacon is probably some of the best bacon I've had in a long time, and the eggs are comparable to the eggs I ate last year at summer camp, which were the best eggs I've ever had. I manage to finish the whole plate of food in about ten minutes. I wash the food down with the last of my coffee, and walk over to the register to pay. I pay for my food, making sure to give Denise a large tip, and walk over to the table where the Winchesters are sitting.

"Hey, guys," I say as I sit down, "So, following me now, are we?" I ask. They seem annoyed that I noticed them, but I don't care. Following people is definitely not okay with me.

"Ken, we didn't know you were here," Dean starts to say, but I'm not dumb.

"Bull," I say, glaring at him, "You both looked at me when you walked in, you didn't order any food, and you just _coincidentally_ chose a seat right behind me in an empty diner." I cannot believe the nerve of these two.

The two brothers exchange glances, much as they did back at my house before telling me their hotel room.

"Yes, Ken, we did follow you, but it was for a good reason," Sam says, looking at me earnestly.

"Yeah, I know, because you don't trust me, I get it, I don't trust you either, but that's no reason to follow someone around, much less the person that needs your help." I'm angry, but more disappointed and saddened than anything. I thought these two were different than I first thought, but they aren't.

"We're sorry Ken, we didn't-" Sam starts to say, but I interrupt.

"Yeah, yeah, you didn't mean to break the little trust I had. Well, it's too late now. I don't need your help tonight; I'll kill the damn thing myself." I get out of my seat and storm out, fighting the tears threatening to fall from my eyes.

I practically run back to my hotel room, grab my stuff, and throw it in the backseat of my truck. I hurriedly check out of my room, ignoring the concerned looks the receptionist gives me. I walk back to my truck, still angry about the incident in the diner. I'm not mad at Sam and Dean, just disappointed, but I am mad about the fact that they followed me.

I climb into my truck and start the engine. I need to get some things from in town before I head to the mountains. I can only hope that the Winchesters don't follow me there too.

 **A/N: Did you like it? Did you hate it? Please tell me in the little review box below, it isn't hard. *Uses Castiel's puppy eyes this week* Happy reading!**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Hello! I am SO sorry for the incredibly late update. I've been under a lot of stress from my karate class and marching band, and I was cleaning my house. I hope this makes everything okay. Enjoy!**

I finish placing the last arrow in my quiver when I hear the unmistakable sound of the Impala's engine rumble behind me. I have my compound and quiver in my left hand with my release on my right wrist, my new steel serrated knife at my left hip, and my gun at my right. I know the gun is useless, but it is still nice to have all the same. I shove my keys in my pocket after closing and locking the box and the bed of my truck, and turn to face the boys. I'm still incredibly pissed and disappointed, but I've calmed down quite a bit since the incident in the diner this morning.

As I lean against the truck, the Impala's engine turns off and the boys get out, their faces as unreadable as ever.

"What do you want?" I ask with no traces of familiarity in my voice. I carefully guard my body language, voice, and facial expressions as they walk around and lean against the front of the Impala.

"Ken, we want this thing dead just as much as you do, but we have to work together, and to do that, we have to trust each other," Sam says.

"You think I'm supposed to trust you after that stunt you two pulled in the diner this morning?" I say, my volume rising as anger creeps into my voice.

Sam starts to say something, but Dean interrupts him, "Ken, we don't know these mountains like you do."

"Damn right you don't," I say under my breath, but if Dean heard it, he doesn't show any reaction, and continues talking.

"So we need your help to find the thing anyways. And even if you could hunt this thing alone, what are the odds that it kills you before you kill it? Especially if you're out there by yourself."

He's right about that. Even when hunting deer, you never go out alone, just in case you are injured or lost. Besides, hunting this thing is far more dangerous than any predator a person could legally hunt. I relent, "Fine, but I still don't trust you. And I could just as easily leave you out in the desert as I could find the caro comedenti."

"Okay, we get it, you're pissed, but please, Ken, just give us another chance," Sam practically begs.

But I was already planning to help them; I just wanted to see how they would respond to my accusations. "Alright, but you follow me, and don't do anything stupid. The desert is harsher than it looks."

The brothers nod and walk to the back of their car, and I follow, curious to see what kind of stuff they have in their hunter's stash. Dean opens the trunk and lifts a panel, revealing more weapons than I can count. There are knives, guns, fake ID's, throwing stars, charms, holy water, wooden stakes, and even more that I can't identify.

I whistle, impressed, "Wow. How did you get all this stuff?" I'm very impressed; I've never seen a weapon collection this big.

Dean smiles proudly, "We just collected a lot over the years. We were raised into the life, and this is what happens."

The boys grab their machetes, and Dean closes and locks the trunk.

"Alright, let's head out," I say.

I lead the way into the desert, the setting sun only just lighting our way. But as we hike, I can't shake this gut feeling that something bad is going to happen.

* * *

"Ken, we've been searching for hours, and we haven't found anything," I hear Sam complain behind me. But I'm not listening right now; I'm crouched on one knee, looking at a track that the comedenti left. Well, I'm 99.9% sure that the comedenti left it, considering there's nothing else in this area to leave a track in this shape or this large. Luckily, the moon gives us enough light to see by tonight.

However, Sam is right; we _have_ been searching for hours. The three of us reached the desert hills around 6:00 PM; it's now 8:47 PM.

Something about these tracks is unsettling, and the desert is completely silent, neither of which is good.

"We should probably head back, continue searching tomorrow," Dean says. I stand, glancing at the surrounding hills, my entire body tense and nervous.

Sam starts to say something else, but I shush him as I turn around, my eyes still trained on the surrounding hills. "Listen," I say, my eyes finally meeting theirs.

"I don't hear anything," Sam says, confused.

"Exactly," I say. The Winchesters look confused, so I elaborate, "The desert is never silent. There are always birds, bugs, javelina, coyotes; you name it, moving around."

"Okay, so?" Dean asks, impatient.

"I'm not finished. Something deliberately left these tracks. They were left here for us to follow." I answer, trying to stay calm.

"So what do we do?" Sam asks softly. At least he has the common sense to stay quiet.

"We should head back," Dean answers, but I disagree.

"No, we should keep following the trail," I say. The boys look at me, and Dean starts to say something, but I interrupt, "It could be watching us right now, and we would never know. I can't tell how old those tracks are since there's no wind, rain, or game trails cutting across it. If we turn back now, it could kill us."

"It might not," Dean says confidently.

"The caro comedenti left those tracks. It wants us to follow that trail. And as much as I don't want to walk into a trap, I sure as hell don't want to find out what happens if we don't follow the trail," I explain, "Besides, if we come back tomorrow, it'll know that we're coming, and the outcome might not be so favorable for us."

Dean sighs, "Fine. Let's just get this over with." They both look uncomfortable, but I am too, if not more than they are. After all, this is my first hunt.

"Watch your back," I tell them, "The last thing we need is the comedenti cornering us."

The three of us continue on, checking behind us every minute or so. My body is tense, and I can tell I'm not the only one. My body and head are practically screaming at me to turn back, but another part of me is telling me to keep going. Being the idiot I am, I keep going.

As we continue, the trail becomes disturbingly more obvious, and my nerves are on edge. After about a half an hour, we reach the mouth of a cave. I know this cave well, I used to shelter in it for survival practice; it's large and spacious, and can easily house ten people comfortably, fifteen in a cramped situation.

"Alright," I whisper, nocking an arrow as I speak, "Let's go in." I hold the release in my hand, ready to draw and fire the arrow at a moment's notice.

We walk into the cave, senses on high alert. I manage to stay relatively quiet, but the boys are stomping like a herd of stampeding elephants. If we had any chance of secrecy before, it's gone now. As we move further back into the cave, the smell of rotting meat becomes extremely prevalent, but we continue pressing on. But when we reach the back of the cave, something isn't right.

There's no caro comedenti in the cave.

I sigh, turn back to the mouth of the cave, and see the shadow of the monster, outlined by the light of the moon. I should have seen this coming, "Clever beast," I say. The boys turn, and quickly draw their machetes when they see the monster.

It growls and charges, covering nearly the entire length of the cave in only a few bounds. I quickly draw, aim, and release my arrow, but the creature dodges at the last second, and the arrow flies off into the desert. I nock, draw, and release another arrow, and this one luckily hits it in the shoulder. By now, it's right in front of us. Sam and Dean lunge forwards with their machetes. I continue firing arrow after arrow, hoping for a kill shot, while the brothers try to decapitate it with their machetes. Even though the arrows and blades are cutting its flesh, the cuts are only serving to make the monster angry.

The comedenti roars in anger and in pain, and with one swipe of its front foot, Dean and I fly into the wall of the cave. I feel dizzy, my vision is doing strange things, and my head is pounding. Great, now I have a concussion. But as far as I know, the comedenti isn't dead yet, so I force my head up to see what the monster is doing.

To my right, Dean is unconscious, his machete lying in his limp hand. Across the cave, Sam is lying limply on the ground, and he seems dazed, but not concussed. I'm not sure though, I can't see him very clearly, considering I can see two dazed Sams. The caro comedenti is standing in the center of the cave breathing heavily, holding one of its four legs off the ground, apparently injured. It turns towards Sam as he tries to stand up. My eyes widen as the comedenti picks Sam up off the ground with its injured arm. Sam looks at Dean with fear, and then glances to me before locking eyes with the comedenti.

I drop my bow on the ground, and try to pull my battered body off the ground. I finally get to my feet after a few tense seconds, and pull my knife from its sheath, leaning against the wall of the cave. I don't know what I'm doing, but I know that I can't let Sam die, not if I can stop it. My head is protesting the very fact that I am vertical, but I ignore it. I ready myself, adrenaline fueling my movements more than anything does right now. I take a deep breath, and start charging towards Sam. I know I'll probably die, or at least sustain a severe injury, but I refuse to let someone die, not if I can help it.

I reach Sam as fast as my injured body can carry me, and I push him out of the comedenti's claw with all of my body weight as its jaws descend, and I feel its teeth sink into my right shoulder.

I scream, feeling as if my shoulder is on fire, and I feel my body go limp in the creature's jaws. I start to fall asleep, but I jerk myself awake, and plant my feet firmly on the ground. I'm not about to let this creature get away, not when I'm standing this close to it. I toss my knife to my more useable left hand, knowing my right hand couldn't handle what I'm going to do. I grip the blade a little more firmly, and bring it up into the monster's belly.

Its grip on my shoulder marginally loosens, and I barely hear it gurgle as it dies. It falls, taking me to the ground with it.

I close my eyes, in too much pain to worry about anything else right now. I feel the jaws of the monster release me, and hands roll me onto my back and immediately apply pressure on my shoulder. I moan in pain, and try to roll to my left, away from the pain, but the hands gently hold me in place.

"Ken!" I hear Sam yell. He sounds panicked, and I force my eyes open.

Sam is on my right, pressing down on my shoulder, and Dean is on my left. Oh, so now Dean is awake. That would have been helpful about a minute ago. They both look worried, but I'm in too much pain to care. I shut my eyes and groan, turning my head away from the pain in my shoulder.

I hear the brothers talking, but the ringing in my ears has intensified, blocking out all other noise. I moan again, noticing lights dancing behind my eyes.

Something soft and warm covers me, and it is surprisingly comforting. I feel the hands on my shoulder shift, and I feel arms under my back and behind my knees. No, no, no, don't pick me up, please, just wait until I pass out, please, don't pick me up. I whimper, and raise my left arm towards the warm presence on my right, grabbing something, one of the boy's shirts I think, desperately trying to convey that I don't want them to pick me up, it'll hurt, please.

But they don't understand my desperate pleas, and I feel myself lifted into the air, pain exploding in my shoulder, sending me spiraling into oblivion.

 **A/N: Duhn duhn DUUUHN! What will happen? Please review, reviews make me happy. Happy writer=faster updates! :) Happy Reading!**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: OK, I have no excuse for an extremely late update, but last week, Discovery channel fed my unhealthy, unnatural obsession with sharks using Shark Week. But then I had major writers block, and this chapter was a pain to write. So, I really have no excuse. But this fic will not be abandoned, I can promise you all that. Hope you enjoy!**

The ringing in my ears is what wakes me up. Well, ringing is the wrong word; it's more like a humming noise, similar to when a huge group of people are all talking at the same time in a huge room, and all of their voices sounds like a weird humming noise. Except the humming is high pitched and in a different language.

I struggle to pull my eyelids apart, and after what feels like hours, but only lasts a few seconds, I open my eyes. I lay on my left side in a relatively soft bed, facing what I recognize as the Winchester's hotel room. I wonder for a few seconds how I got here, and what happened, and then I remember everything: the comedenti, the hunt, me saving Sam and the caro comedenti biting me in the process, and everything else besides. I glance around, and see a note on the nightstand next to a glass of water and my gun still in its holster, so I sit up to grab one of the three items.

I am surprised at the lack of resistance coming from my right shoulder, so I decide to look at it. I pull away the too big shirt and see a clean bandage wrapped around the undoubtedly stitched injury. I don't want to think about that process, or whose shirt I'm wearing, because I know that I don't own any AC DC t-shirts. So, instead of thinking about it, I settle for drinking the glass of water. The humming noise isn't getting any quieter, which worries me, but it isn't getting worse either. As I drink the water, I enjoy the cool, refreshing feeling of the water sliding down my throat. I guess I was thirstier than I thought.

After drinking the water, I test the mobility of my shoulder, and only find a small amount of pain compared to what I was expecting. That's strange, a bite wound as deep as the one I sustained would take weeks to heal, and I don't think I've been out for weeks.

I grab my gun and hook the holster to my pants, and read the note. It's written in Dean's rigid handwriting, saying that they should be back later today. I'm confused and slightly unnerved by the note; the boys could have dropped me in another hotel or a hospital and left me there and I wouldn't have thought twice about it. Hunters generally don't stay in one place for very long. So why did Sam and Dean patch me up, and are going to come back later? Unless… no, I won't think about that.

I hear the engine of the Impala outside, and feel slightly relieved, but also kind of apprehensive about the fact that the brothers came back to talk to me and take care of me. The sounds of their voices drift through the surprisingly thin walls. The humming noise intensifies as they move closer to the door, and eventually open it.

I stare at them, astonished and frightened at what I'm seeing right now. I subconsciously move my hand to my gun, but don't draw; the last thing anyone needs is a gun pointed at them. However, the strange bluish white light emanating from the brothers isn't helping their odds. I tense, as the bright lights and the humming noise are pulsing in harmony with each other.

As I come to this realization, the Winchesters seem to notice that I'm upright against the headboard. The humming goes from relatively calm to cautious, nervous, and maybe a little frantic. If possible, my body tenses even more.

"Hey Ken," Sam says, trying to sound nonchalant, but doing a very poor job of it. He cautiously lowers himself on the bed opposite of the one I am currently sitting on. He seems nervous, and moves around me as if I'm a wounded, scared animal. Which to be fair, I am.

Dean sits down at the foot of my bed, acting as if he's not sure what to do, but he does a far better job of concealing it than Sam is right now.

"We, uh, should probably tell you something," Sam says, his eyes not meeting mine.

The high-pitched humming sounds more frantic, and as I focus harder on one specific "voice" in the cacophony, the clearer it becomes, and is easier to interpret. The lights coming from Sam and Dean work the same way, but it's harder to focus on such a bright light for a long amount of time. Not that it's easy to focus on a super high-pitched humming, but it is much harder to focus on a bright light.

Sam starts to say something, but I interrupt, "Sam, I know you want to ease me into whatever your grand revelation is, but can you just cut the crap and tell me what the hell is going on." My voice comes out rushed and a little more panicked than I should admit, but I'm starting to panic just a little bit.

"You can see and hear souls," Dean tells me, looking me in the eye, honesty shining from his soul. He's not lying, and as much as I want to believe that it isn't true, I can't deny what my eyes and ears show me, confirming what Dean told me.

I feel my body breathe hard through my nose, trying my best to stay calm, but it's not working. I stand and begin to pace the length of the room, holding my right arm as still as possible, as I can still feel pain radiating from my bit wound. As I pace my breathing intensifies.

A part of me is telling me that I am overreacting, and that pacing and freaking out won't change anything about my current predicament. But another part of me says that my reaction is perfectly reasonable, that my entire life has changed: A few weeks ago, I was a perfectly normal, straight-A kid with a family, and a scholarship to college, and a driver's' license. I had friends, an actual life, and now it's all gone, and I have this weird ability that I don't even know how to control, and-

"Ken, calm down," Dean practically shouts. Oh, I must have vocalized my freak-out session. How much of that did they hear? It doesn't matter; I have bigger problems right now.

Dean is standing in front of me, and I notice that both brothers are on their feet, concern gleaming from them. Literally, I can see and hear it, and no matter how hard they try to keep their composure, they can't hide how they really feel. Not now, not from me. Great, I'm working myself up again.

"HOW can you expect me to calm DOWN right now?!" I shout, my voice shaking and far higher pitched than I would like. Tears are filling my eyes, but my stubborn pride keeps them in check. I also have a rule not to cry in front of people until I've known them for at least one month.

Dean takes a few tentative steps towards me, as he would a frightened, cornered, volatile animal. He awkwardly puts his hands on my shoulders as if he's never comforted a teenager before and looks me in the eye. "You'll be fine."

"How do you know that?" I ask. My voice breaks and my tears threaten to spill over. I close my eyes, and just listen to Dean's soul, hoping beyond hope that I will find the answer to my question within it. I can't interpret it very well, but I hear anxiety, confusion, pity, and… hope? And faith? Dean has hope? For me? He believes I can overcome this? Yeah, those two emotions shine out all the others, and my will dissolves as I realize how much he cares.

I break down and weep, crying like I never have before, and I latch onto Dean's shirt and press my face into his chest, ignoring the deafening noise of the souls. I feel my legs give out, and Dean gently lowers me onto the floor. I curl up tighter than humanly possible and feel Dean embrace me, and he rubs my back in small circles and hums assurances as I lose all of my composure. I hear Sam sit next to me and awkwardly place his hand on my shoulder, which only serves to make me cry harder. I cry for my parents, my friends that I can never go back to, my old life, hell I even cry for my dogs that died a few months back, getting me into this life. I curl up tighter into the boys' embrace and just let all of my emotions out.

I don't know how long we sit there on the floor as I let out all of the tears of a lifetime. When I have no more tears to cry, I pull out of the Winchesters' embrace and wipe my eyes. Sam and Dean pull away ever so slightly and look at me expectantly. "So, uh," I clear my throat and smile jokingly, "whose shirt am I wearing guys?"

We all chuckle, but our hearts aren't in it, and I think we all know that I asked the joke more to lighten the mood than anything.

"Well," Dean nervously says, "your shirt was ruined by your blood, we had to stitch up your shoulder, and we didn't think that you wanted to wake up with no shirt on."

I just smile, "Well you're right about that. It definitely would have been an awkward situation. Well, more so than it already was." I sigh, the smile vanishing from my face, "So I assume that the monster's venom gave me this, this, _ability_ ," I practically spit out the word.

"Yeah," Sam says his voice husky and rough. I look at him, but he avoids eye contact. Even without my new ability, I can tell he feels guilty for this, but I can't deal with that right now. Right now, I just want to relax. A yawn breaks my train of thought, but I form a new one, thinking about what to say to the boys.

By the time I shut my mouth, I know what to say, "So, are you guys heading out today?" They seem confused, almost astonished that I would ask something like that. "Come on guys, I'm not dumb. I know that you guys have better things to do than ease me into this newfound ability of mine."

They just smile knowingly, and Dean speaks up, "Well, we thought that we should help you before we left."

"Well, the help is appreciated." I stand, and so do the Winchesters.

"Oh," Sam says, pulls out the keys to my truck and hands them to me, "you might need these. We put your bow and knife in your truck"

"Thanks Sam," I say as I pocket the keys, "Thank you, both of you, for everything."

"No problem," Dean says. I just smile, and wave at them as I leave the room.

I breathe the fresh air, but the humming and buzzing of souls disturbs my peaceful breath. I look around and see a group of five or so people talking in the outer reaches of the parking lot. I try my best to ignore them as I walk towards my truck, and am relieved to find my weapons in the backseat of my truck, the seats folded up to better accommodate them. I move them aside and sit down in the back, closing the door behind me.

I sigh, relieved to find that the metal walls of the truck block the sounds of the souls, if only enough so that they aren't painful anymore. I change out of Dean's shirt and put on my own clothes. As I reach for my bow, arrows, and knife, I see the corner of some fabric along with a note. My curiosity piqued, I reach for the note first.

 _Ken,_

 _We're sorry, but your flannel was ruined. We hope that these can replace it well enough._

 _Sam & Dean_

I smile to myself and pull out the fabric, and find two plaid flannels, one blue and brown and the other forest green and beige. I pull on the green one, more for comfort than the chill of the air outside. I place my gun in the center console so that it is readily available after I put my other stuff in the bed of my truck. I grab my knife and my bow and arrows and climb down from the back of my truck, making sure to lock it behind me.

I climb up into the bed, using the rear tire as a step, and put my bow and arrows in their case and my knife in the box with all my other miscellaneous weapons. The comedenti venom must have made the wound heal faster, because I only mild discomfort comes from my shoulder.

As I lock my weapons box, a screech pierces the air. I wince and my left hand shoots up to plug my ear, seeing as my right hand is occupied with locking the weapons box in my truck. I turn my head and look around, but nobody else in the area seems to have noticed the screech. Huh, that's strange, it was… oh. It must have been someone's soul.

It sounded afraid, and hopeless; almost like a cry for help. I search for the source of the sound, knowing I could probably help, when the group of teenagers I noticed earlier catches my eye. On closer examination, all but one of the souls is shining brightly, and although I haven't learned how to interpret souls very well yet, I know bullies when I see them. Heaven knows I've seen plenty of them, and been on the receiving end as well.

I jump down from the back of my truck, suddenly glad I left my gun in the center console of the truck, because I might have just shot the bullies in the foot or something just on principle. Well, I wouldn't shoot them, but I might use it to scare them; I'm not _that_ mean. As I move closer, I see a group of four boys standing over a smaller, scrawny kid trying to pick up his books and papers. The stereotypical nerd. They could be in middle school, maybe freshmen in high school.

I circle around to the back of the semicircle the bullies formed around the nerd, far enough away so they don't notice me, but close enough to intervene if things get out of hand. As I walk, I assess the situation, including which one of the boys is most likely to attack first if the situation becomes violent. I reach the back of the small nerd and step into the semicircle. Well, I'm past the point of no return.

"Hey, what're you doing guys?" I place my hands on my hips, slowly stepping in front of the small kid who has started to pick up his books and things. I hear that he is a little hopeful, but still scared.

The so-called leader of the group scowls, "You should leave girlie, before you get hurt." Wow, we're all about the same height, so do you really need to bring my gender into this.

"How about you guys just back off?" Great, I'm in it now.

I push the smaller kid behind me, and he takes the hint and backs up as the four larger kids advance. I can already tell that they are unskilled fighters, and none of them has any other weapons. I slide my right leg back, and shift my weight to the balls of my feet into a fighting stance that I have spent a long time perfecting. I sense the first attack from my left before it hits.

I dodge the roundhouse punch and do a quick throw, putting the guy on the ground, before blocking the next punch and throwing him on the ground as well. Two down, two to go. Before I can kick one of the other boys, one of them gets me in a bear hug, and the last kid moves forwards with a sickening smile on his face. I scowl defiantly, and using the guy behind me as my base, I jump and kick the kid in front of me in the chest with both feet. Hard. He stumbles back and falls over, but so does the guy holding me, pulling me down with him. I instinctively tuck my chin to avoid my head bouncing, and luckily, the kid breaks my fall. His arms fall to his sides, and I elbow him in the gut for good measure. I find myself suddenly thankful for my black belt in karate.

I slowly rise to my feet; that fall knocked the wind out of me, and I probably shouldn't have fought with my shoulder injury, but my pain is worth it if I saved that kid from a lifetime of problems, like mine, from bullying.

Speaking of bullying, the kids are all getting to their feet, massaging various body parts. When they see me on my feet, with no outwardly obvious injuries, the get to their feet as fast as they can and run. Well, they run as fast as they can with their various injuries.

I turn and see the nerd kid once again on the ground, gathering his books and papers. He must have fallen in the commotion. I kneel and help him gather his things.

"Here, let me help," I pick up and organize some of his papers and books, and pile them. "You okay?" I ask as we stand up.

He just nods vigorously and mumbles a thank you after taking his stuff from my arms.

I smile and put my hand on his shoulder. His head shoots up and looks at me. His soul is thankful, but he is still a little nervous. "Hey, don't let idiots like that get you down. You can get through this. I've been where you are, I know what this feels like. But I know you can get through this." I tell him.

"How do you know?" he asks. My breath catches slightly, as this kid just unknowingly echoed my question to Dean from earlier.

"Because I did." The kid just smiles and thanks me before rushing off.

As I walk back to my truck to grab my gun, I massage my head; the fight was a clamor of souls, and was loud and painful to hear.

When I open my eyes, I see Sam and Dean loading their stuff into the Impala, so I decide to go talk to them before I head out.

"Leaving so soon?" I jokingly ask as I saunter up to them. They turn and smile ever so slightly.

"Yeah. Are you going to be alright?" Dean asks. His posture is relaxed, but his soul practically screams concern.

"I will be. I'll just have to see. There has to be someone in this country that knows something about the comedenti aside from us."

"Well, here are our numbers," Dean says, handing me a piece of paper with both of their phone numbers on it, "Take care of yourself, Ken."

"You too." The boys start walking to the front doors of the Impala, but something I can hear in Sam's soul stops me from just leaving. "Sam," I call out, and both brothers turn. "Don't feel guilty about what happened to me. I chose to dive in front of the comedenti and save you. I knew what I was getting into. So don't feel guilty about it."

Sam smiles sadly, "I'll try."

I step up on the curb and watch as the boys drive away in their car. I stay there until I can no longer see the lights of their souls.

I walk to my truck and climb into the driver's seat. I take a deep breath, relishing the feeling of the steering wheel under my hands. I smile to myself as the engine roars to life. I shift gears and head off down the highway, into my new way of life.

 **A/N: The fic is not over. I repeat, this fic is not over. Reviews are appreciated, and they make me very happy. As always, Happy Reading my friends!**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: I'm incredibly, very sorry for the extremely long hiatus, and my only excuse is marching band and school. Believe it or don't, it's my excuse. But I am sorry for the long wait, and the kind of short chapter.**

I empty the magazine of my pistol into the human-shaped target at the end of the range, and quickly reload and empty the next one completely before I clear my gun and put the safety on. Without taking my shooting headphones off, I turn to my left and push a few buttons on the target console, quickly bringing my target back to me.

I look at the holes in it, and see that the larges grouping is in the center, with only a few outliers in the gut and the shoulder. My other grouping is in the head, right in the center of the face, with a few clipping the ears and giving the target a shave on the top of his head. I smile, and pull the paper target down from the mangled cardboard template.

I'm out of fresh targets, and really don't want to spend money on more, so I pack up my gun in its bag, throw away my destroyed targets, and leave. There are three pairs of doors between the indoor range and the lobby to muffle the noise of the gunshots, and as I open the first one, a guy, about 18, maybe 19 years old, steps in the small room with me. I push the button to close the door, suddenly thankful that shooting headphones also significantly muffle the sounds of the souls that I can now hear. Once the door closes, the guy pushes the button to open the middle doors, and we walk through. We pass through the last pairs of doors in much the same way, and I take off my headphones once we reach the lobby.

I close my eyes, and pinch the bridge of my nose, nearly blinded by everyone's souls, and the noise is extremely loud. I take a deep breath, and relax; I learned the hard way that tensing up will only make matters worse for me. After managing to discreetly compose myself, if only a little, I start walking towards the doors of the range to get out and back on the road, but a tap on my shoulder stops me.

I turn around, and see the guy from the range that waited in the doors from the range with me. He is a tiny bit nervous, but super confident, and his body language, not soul, practically screams that he has an ego large enough to go toe to toe with Tony Stark.

I raise my eyebrows, as if to ask him what he wants, and he speaks, "Hey, uh, I saw those groupings on your targets and they were really nice. I was wondering if you wanted to go out later." Little quick on the draw, this guy.

I scoff, "No thanks buddy, you might have better luck with a girl who's actually interested." Wow, I was not expecting that to come out, but I decide to just roll with it, and turn around to continue my trek to the door. At least I get to see the confused, shocked expression on his face before I leave. I guess the ego wasn't as large as I thought.

After I leave, I decide to get some lunch at the local McDonald's. It's really crappy food, but it's better than nothing. Besides, it'll get me to Bobby's cabin where I can get some real food. Well, hopefully get some real food.

I quickly order my food, and it comes out just as quickly. I sit down in the corner of the place, affording a complete view of the room. As I eat my food, I reflect on the past few days.

After the Winchesters and I went our separate ways, I made the mistake of going to the store in town. I needed supplies, but I wasn't anticipating how loud everyone's souls would be. I managed to walk semi-calmly back to my truck after getting everything I needed, which included a sleeping bag, emergency food, ammunition, and other things, before a full blown mental breakdown happened. I was hyperventilating, not knowing what to do, or who to talk to without being either ignored and/or thrown into a mental hospital. Then I remembered that I put Sam and Dean's phone numbers into my phone. I quickly called Dean, who managed to calm me down after a lot of coaxing and shouting, the shouting coming from my side of the phone line. After my breathing and my heart rate kind of evened out, Dean told me to go to Bobby's cabin in Whitefish, Montana, that Bobby might be able to help me with my...ability.

I called Bobby yesterday, and asked him to dig up some information on caro comedenti venom, and the abilities one would get it bit them. He asked what it was for, and I responded that I had a "small problem" and that I was coming up to the cabin, and would arrive in a few days.

I've been driving from Phoenix, AZ to Whitefish, MT for two days now, considering I have to stop to eat and sleep, and I should reach the cabin by tomorrow, around midday. As I traveled, I noticed that larger animals and any plants larger than a bush don't necessarily have souls per se, but do have emotions and a life force that I can detect, much as I can with human souls. I also learned that I can convey my own emotions through physical contact, and that even if I can't hear or see very well at any moment, I can sense souls, like when someone stands right behind me and is looking over my shoulder, and I can sort of sense them there. I can kind of sense souls the same way.

I finish my meager lunch, and throw away the trash, trying my best to ignore the curious vibes I'm noticing from other patrons in the restaurant. They're probably looking at my gun bag, which I cleverly disguised as a small briefcase, but it is a little too small to even the untrained eye. But that is a can of worms I do not want to open, at least not in a McDonald's.

I walk back to my truck, placing the gun bag on the floor in front of the passenger's seat as I clamber into the driver's seat. I pat the dashboard of my truck and smile as the engine roars to life, and find my way to the highway, heading north to Montana.

I reach the cabin in Whitefish the next night, seeing as I overslept at a rest stop, and couldn't gain back those few hours on the road. I knock on the door, and Bobby opens it. I'm a little surprised to see that he's awake, but I guess most hunters don't get much sleep anyways.

"Hey, Bobby," I say tiredly. My pack is unusually heavy on my back, or maybe I'm just exhausted from driving for three days straight with only about 8 hours of restless sleep.

"Hey, Ken. Come on in." He opens the door a little wider to let me in, and I graciously step into the warm, cozy cabin. I thank him, drop my stuff next to the couch in the center of the room, and plop down on said couch, sighing contentedly.

It's quiet here; no crowds, no people, just the plants and animals in the forest. Oh, and Bobby. His soul is calm, considering the life he leads, which surprises me; everyone got into the business somehow, usually involving death. Most hunters are haunted by this until the end of their days, and even though only about three people really know how Bobby started hunting, they aren't telling, and I'm not asking. I'm just surprised that I can't tell what it is with this stupid new ability. Not that I really want to know.

Bobby sits down on the armchair across from me. "So, what is this 'small problem' that you needed me to dig up information on comedenti venom for?"

Good old Bobby, I knew he would see right through my little lie, but I also knew that he wouldn't push the matter until I was ready to share.

"You figured me out," I say. It's more of an observation than a question, but it can be taken both ways.

"Girl, you don't live as long as I have without learnin' a few things along the way," Bobby remarks with a small smile, which I return. "You wanna talk about it?"

"It depends," I say as I sit up from my horizontal position, "Do you want the full version, or the abridged version?" Bobby is one of the few people I can trust with the real story, the others being the Winchesters, who were there.

He shrugs, "We're not going anywhere."

I take a deep breath, and start to tell my tale, everything from the night my parents died, all the way up to when I called him from my truck in a crowded parking lot. I have to stop several times to either quell my anger, or try to stop tears from falling from my eyes. A lot of sarcasm and an unusual amount of drama from me are involved in the telling of my story, and I finish by the time the sun is rising above the horizon. Bobby listened patiently throughout the entire telling, and thankfully kept any reactions that he had to himself.

By the time I finish my account of the story, the sun is just starting to rise above the horizon of the forest. I take a deep breath and lean forward, my elbows resting on my knees, my head hanging between them from exhaustion, eyes closed. I hear Bobby also take a deep breath, and I am surprised that I couldn't hear his soul for the duration of the telling of my tale. I must have been too distracted while telling the story. Now that I focus however, a whirlwind of emotions is swirling through him, but Bobby's face is remaining stoic, and I can tell that he is trying to reel in his emotions, probably because he doesn't want me to freak. Which I'm thankful for.

I hear Bobby take a deep breath, and sigh. He starts talking, and I lift my head up, open my eyes, and listen.

"Why don't you get some sleep Ken, you look exhausted," he says, but I shake my head.

"No, I'm fine." In truth, I'm about ready to pass out, but I don't want to know what my evil subconscious has planned for me in my dreams, especially after recounting everything that happened to me in the past few weeks. "Do you need any help with researching anything, or something?"

"Not right now," he replies, "But I did get some more info on your thing with the souls. Care to tune in?"

"Sure," I say. I lean back against the couch, struggling to keep my head upright.

Bobby has several lore books laid out on the coffee table between us, and explains every bit of information from every single book with some kind of relevance, in about eight minutes. Most of the information I figured out for myself, but one piece of information is new to me: I can see who is a monster, a demon, or an angel. Since monsters don't have souls, their bodies are just empty. Demons look like black smoke, which I knew, but whereas I would see a person's soul as a bright, whitish blue light, demons are black, swirling smoke. And angels are well, bright, like burn-your-eyes-out bright blue light.

I ask Bobby some questions about this, and I learn that I can interpret people more easily, communicate with them better, and other things.

When we finish talking, I have somehow subconsciously curled up in the couch, my head pillowed on the arm of the couch. My eyes are starting to droop closed, and noises are starting to get fuzzy. I feel something soft and warm placed over me as I fall into the world of dreams.

 **A/N: Ok, so I cannot promise regular updates from here on, but I can promise that I am writing. And since I will probably end this fic within the next one or two chapters, I am open for ideas, just send me a PM. As always, Happy Reading!**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Okay everybody, here it is. The last chapter. I can't believe I made it. Please review at the end, it will keep me writing.**

I sit up, momentarily confused as to where I am, wondering why I'm not in my own bed. I yawn and look around, when everything that happened comes back to me. I sigh, leaning forward with my head between my knees, trying to wake up. I push the blanket that I'm assuming Bobby place on top of me last night, off my shoulders. I'm somewhat surprised that I had no nightmares last night, but then again, it is the first night of sleep I've had in a semi-comfortable position, meaning not in the cramped backseat of my truck. I take another deep breath, deciding not to dwell on the past and stand up, wanting some form of food.

I look at my watch that somehow stayed on while I slept, and see that it is about 1:30 in the afternoon. I'm not that surprised; I did only fall asleep around 7:00 this morning. If anything, I'm surprised that I didn't sleep more.

I walk over to the kitchen and grab a granola bar and a bottle of water before sitting back down on the couch and eating my meager lunch. Or whatever meal this is. As I eat, I close my eyes and just listen to the sounds of the forest. The trees' souls are calming, and they don't worry about trivial problems.

After eating, I walk out to my truck and grab one of my books that I brought with me from Phoenix. Most of my books are lore books, but some are for entertainment. I lock my vehicle back up, walk back inside the cabin, and sit on the couch, opening the novel to my bookmark.

I read for a good hour or so before I hear a car pull up outside the cabin. I put the book down, and hear that Bobby's back. He's no different than he's always been, and I let out a sigh of relief. I would never do that openly to anyone except for my parents and my best friend from high school, but when you lead the hunter's life, you can't help but feel a little worry when someone heads out alone.

I reopen my book seconds before Bobby comes in the front door. I look up from my spot in my book more from force of habit than anything else, even though I know it's Bobby. We exchange nods in greeting, and I watch as he somewhat hurriedly goes into the basement of the cabin. I wonder what he's doing down there, but I quickly dismiss it; he must need somewhere to keep all of his books and things. Especially after his house burned down a few months ago.

I go back to reading my book, but not ten minutes go by when I hear something _thump_ , and Bobby swearing. I furrow my eyebrows, confused at what could have Bobby so frustrated. I close my book and put it in my bag before heading downstairs.

I probably shouldn't be down here, but maybe Bobby needs help with something. I know that Bobby and I are the only two in the cabin, one saving grace at least.

I cross the threshold into the basement, and even I was not expecting this. It looks like a sex torture dungeon. There's really no other way to put it. There's a chair with chains around it in the far corner, with various knives and weapons strewn about the table to my right. There are several bookshelves in the corner, and Bobby is sitting at the probably only clean spot on the table. My eyebrows rise in surprise at the … interesting decor of the room.

I knock on the wall out of courtesy, and Bobby looks at me before going back to the book he's currently browsing.

"I heard you get frustrated earlier. You okay?" I know my concern is probably falling on deaf ears, but I just can't help it; that's the kind of person I am.

"I'm fine," he says, but I can tell he isn't. I don't push the matter though.

"Alright, well if you need me, I'll be upstairs." He kind of grunts in response, and his soul sounds very frustrated, but he also seems like he's on a timetable. I know he probably doesn't need my help though, and even if he does, he won't ask for it.

I decide to change into attire that is more suitable for the climate. I settle on my regular, ever-present combat-style boots, long pants, a plain forest green t-shirt, and a grey hooded sweatshirt.

I settle down to read my book some more, but eventually pull my laptop out of my bag and decide to research some more on the comedenti. A few years ago, I enabled my laptop with a cellular data connection like a smartphone, so the cabin not having Wi-Fi is not a problem.

Most of the information is repeated over and over on different websites, and I'm a little surprised that only a few people have been bitten before. Twenty-seven, to be precise. I might find one of them and talk about this, and maybe get some help on learning how to control this power.

* * *

I jerk awake, not having meant to fall asleep. I look around, disoriented, as I always am when I wake up from an unexpected nap.

My laptop is still on my lap, and the sky outside has grown dark. I glance at my watch and see that it is 7:39 PM. Okay then, a little longer than a nap. I'm surprised that my laptop isn't dead, but on closer examination, I see that it is giving me a 2% battery warning. I decide to just shut it off, and put it back into my bag. I get out of my relatively uncomfortable position on the couch to stretch.

While I do, I notice that Bobby is still downstairs in the basement where I last saw him, but he seems a little more relaxed. I opt against going back downstairs, not wanting to bother the surly old man, and elect to try and find some more food.

I scour the cabinets, and all I find is a loaf of bread that has something growing on it and five bottles of unopened beer in the fridge. I throw away the bread, and I don't drink, so I just sit back down on the couch, my stomach grumbling uncomfortably.

I hear Bobby tromping up the stairs, and I am surprised that he's still upright, what with all the alcohol he's drunk in the past day alone. I look up from my spot on the couch, and notice that Bobby is frustrated with something.

"What's wrong?" I ask, but I know he'll probably just give me the look.

As I predicted, he gives me said, look, but I'm not going to let this go that fast. Normally the look from anyone would shut me up real fast or change the subject, but I'm bored and antsy, so I push the subject.

"I'm going to keep pushing until you tell me what's eating you, so you might as well tell me."

Bobby sighs and leans against the counter of the kitchen, and I think he knows that I'm not joking, so he relents. "There's a possible werewolf in southern Wyoming, and you're the only hunter close enough to take care of it before the full moon passes."

"So why haven't you asked me yet?" I smile sarcastically.

"Good question." Bobby says resignedly. He thinks I shouldn't go.

I stand and face him, but keep my posture gentle. Assertiveness isn't going to help my case. "Listen," I start gently, "I know you don't want me to go, especially if I'm around too many people. I'm nervous about that too. But you don't learn how to swim by staying out of the water. If I want to become a good hunter I've got to get out there and hunt." I look at him earnestly, and he finally meets my eyes, but his expression is unreadable. Luckily, I don't need to read his expression to know what he's feeling. He knows I'm right, but he also know he can't stop me.

Bobby sighs in resignation. "Fine. But you better hurry up so you don't lose the moon."

I smile, "Then I guess I'll just camp out in Wyoming for a month."

I turn and walk back to my bag, kneeling down to put my computer and book in it. I zip up the pouch and shoulder the pack as I've done a million times. I turn back, and Bobby isn't in the kitchen anymore. He pulled a Dark Knight on me, but I can tell that he's in the basement. I shrug and turn towards the door to put my stuff in my truck.

As I close the door, I notice that a light snow has started to fall outside. I smile lightly in joy that it's snowing, but inside I know I have to hurry if I want to get to southern Wyoming before the roads close. It's only lightly snowing now, but this could turn into a blizzard fast, especially in Montana in December.

I throw my bag in the backseat of my truck, but I'm going to keep my gun on my hip until I'm in my truck driving south. As I turn back towards the cabin to say farewell to Bobby, I see him walking out with something in his hand and his other hand in his vest pocket.

I turn towards him and put my hands in my hoodie pocket. Bobby hands me the box in his hand.

"What's this?" I ask, and open the box. I smile; there are fifty silver bullets in this ammo box.

"Figured you might need those if you're hunting a werewolf." Bobby smiles.

"Thank you. I'll bring back anything leftover."

"No need. You'll need those for anything else like shifters, and other things."

"I can't thank you enough for this." I say and shake my head.

"Just take care of yourself," Bobby says.

I hold out my hand to shake his, and he accepts. "Nice meeting you Bobby, considering the circumstances."

"Likewise."

Bobby walks back to the cabin, and I walk back to my truck. As I settle into the driver's seat and turn the key in the ignition, I'm suddenly glad my dad payed some extra money for seat warmers. I laughed at him, because we lived in Arizona where it never gets very cold, but now I silently thank him. I put my firearm and the box of silver bullets in the center console of the truck.

I pull out from the cabin out onto the road, and as I do, I think about everything that has led me this far. Sadness, grief, happiness, frustration, anger, helplessness, and hope. I smile sadly, as I think about everything that I left behind, but I relish in the memories that I still have. I think about my best friend, Leyla, and wonder if I'll ever see her again. I think about the Winchesters, and appreciate their help.

But most of all, I think about my parents, and know that while they would be proud of me for coming this far, they would be worried about me. But they would respect my decisions, however much they disapproved. I silently thank them for everything as a few tears slip down my face. I wipe my tears away as I drive down the road; I told myself a long time ago that crying distorts your sense of judgement. Then, a quote from a wise old man comes to mind: "I will not say do not weep, for not all tears are an evil." I smile to myself again, but less in sadness and more of in understanding.

I drive south, and I think about the road so far, and hope for good things for the road to come.

 **A/N: Wow. I can't believe we made it. I hope you guys all enjoyed the story, and as I said above, please review. As always, Happy Reading.**


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